Venus and Mars
by golddiger
Summary: Danila Lannister. A name given to me by birth and still it sounded foreign to my own ears. I had been born the eldest Lannister. I had been born into the game of thrones. Into a Tv-show. And I had been born to be his Queen. At least he says so. Robert Baratheon/OC, Self-Insert, AU
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own anything but my characters.

Chapter one

What if i had chosen to take a taxi ? What if I had sleep at Mira's place? What if I had been more responsible and not drunk as much? What if I had just listened to my mom once and returned home by midnight?

What if I had not crashed my car into a tree and killed two of my best friends, while only getting away with minor injureies ? What if I had been able to carry that weight and not killed myself a week later? What if I just hadn't been so fucking stupid?

What if?


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own anything but my characters.

Chapter two

While alive, I imagined death to feel like sleep. Without thinking, feeling, knowing. Is this sleep? Maybe I just never slept before? When I was alive I had an older brother. We shared everything. Including a room. So to spare space we wished for a bunk bed when we were younger. Our mother, she raised us singlehandedly, bought it for my fourth and his seventh birthday. We were both born in July. It was always clear that I would sleep in the bunker bed. It just made sense. I had a fear of heights and Oliver didn't. That's at least what I thought at the time. Oliver told me so. He said one day I was scared of heights and I didn't argue so it became a well known fact within our small family. Well, I really couldn't have argued even if I wanted to for there were no playgrounds or trees around for me to find out whether his theory was sound or not. Therefore my fear of heights seemed reasonable to me or at least to the four year old me. So I slept at the bottom and Oliver on the top. However, I soon found out that bunk beds maybe weren't the brightest idea considering Oliver was an active sleeper. He moved to the left, the bed moved to the left. He rolled to the right, the bed moved to the right. Sleep became shallow and hardly refreshing. But no complains got my mother to buy us different beds. She just got us the new bunk bed. So skimming sleep night after night became a habit. Exhaustion became part of the routine and suddenly I only needn't one or two hours of sleep to feel ready for the day.

So maybe this warmth is what if been missing out all along. Or maybe it's not. It could also just be death. For all I know Death could be a fucking care bear, swallowing every soul coming his way into his giant ass tummy and jumping around in his kingdom of feelings. Therefore the warmth I'm feeling could also be his tummy warmth.

Nevertheless, the more time went on the more my theories got out of hand. How could I possibly be dead, for every minute spent in this warmth feels like I am slowly regaining my existence? The longer the wondering went on the more often I came to the conclusion, that in fact I could not be dead. Possibly in a coma or something similar, but not dead.

However my wondering was cut short by the sudden pain disrupting my body. Had it not been for the all consuming anguish destroying all possible thoughts on this situation, I would have considered this a blessing for I had been waiting for something, anything to happen. The sudden awareness of my physical existence was a shock I was not able to take in for everything and anything was pain.

And suddenly it wasn't again. It was light. It was cold. It was noise.

It was life.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own anything but my characters.

Chapter three

A new born body was in many ways lacking. It could not feed itself. Could not wash itself. Could not take care of itself. But to me those were not concern I had to confront myself with. I was pretty well taken care for. The first few months became just a blur of sensaitions in my memories. These remaining fragments of emotions bestowed me with the knowledge that those months were spent in content and satisfied unconsciousness for I still feel the warmth of those times in my mind. Even without any concrete memories. At some point I had lost all feeling for time and just existed in the warmth surrounding me. However the time I was allowed to dwell in this state was limited.

One day I opened my eyes and my warmth was taken from me. Exchanged for my new reality. I was finally able to grasped my mind in a stronger hold and could not only see the world around me clearly but also comprehend the Informations my surrounding gave me into a context that made sense to. I was finally myself again. But with awareness comes worry.

First things first, a woman was holding me within her arms. Pressed to her chest. As if she wanted me to feed on her breast. There were some other woman, in uniforms, probably maids, in front of the bed. Seemingly waiting for me to act. The realization of me being a human child again hit me like a truck. I was a child again. I was given a second chance in life. I could live. Nevertheless, I can't really say it came as a complete surprise considering the fact I had a pretty long time to myself wondering what was going to happen to me in the future. Reincarnation was among my more hopeful and wishful options. I also seemed to have been born into a different time then the one I had died in. The heavy stone build of the room and the medieval clothing was an indicator for that. However, the way the women spoke with each other and the behavior of the maids toward the woman holding me was even stronger evidence of my theory.

The woman holding me was still trying to feed me, by making weird cooing noises and pressing her breast even more into my face. I saw my only escape in crying. So I did. Instantly all her efforts of making me drink from her breast stopped and she pulled me closer to her face. Inspecting me for any possible injuries or illnesses causing my crying. However as she found none her face seemed to turn into a crestfallen expression. As if me crying was an indicator of my death or something. Maybe it was in the century I was born into this time around. The woman screamed for the maids help, asking what to do with me, asking what could be wrong, why I was crying when I never had before. Out of pity for the woman I stopped my cries, not wanting to upset her anymore.

She was beautiful. My mother, I guess. Silver-Blond curls falling over her shoulder into my face, for me to grab at. Almond shaped blue steel eyes filled with concern and love. My mere existence seemed to amaze her. She watched me watch her. A fine and delicate nose. A slight smile that seemed to tatter on the edge of her full lips. She really was beautiful. Hopefully I would grow up to be as breathtaking. Was I even a girl again? I hope so.

However there was something wrong. Something just didn't sit right with me. After a longer observation of her facial features I realized she seemed sick somehow. There was a red discoloration under her blue eyes, whether from some kind of irritation or sleepless nights, I didn't know. Furthermore she had a very slight build with thin limbs and very pale skin. All of this certainly made her look sickly and tired. However I was not overly concert since the thought was discarded quikly after the woman started her cooing again. Seeing her efforts in amusing me, I offered her a giggle. She answered this with around of tickling. This time I couldn't help but giggle for real. I spent the rest of the time trying to distract her from her actual mission of feeding me. But my distraction tactics were limited as a newborn baby, so I ran out of ideas pretty quickly. And so the inevitable breastfeeding was again in sight. As I could not think anything that could replace my only way of feeding, I pretty much gave up and subjected myself to the torture that was commonly called nursing.

The woman, who gave birth to me, seemed like a caring, warmhearted woman. It was not only in her posture but also in her eyes. Her will to protect and care for me was so outstanding that I could not help but feel a sense of belonging with her. As the day neared its end they, the maids, tried to tug me out of her arms and into a separate room where my crib was probably located. This time her eyes were filled with longing and tiredness. She was different from my first mother. While my past mother was in fact a perfectly good parent for Oliver, she forgot my existence after the first few years. Oliver took care of me most of the time. But I didn't know any different. It was just natural that Oliver as the first born was given more love and care. She had known him longer after all. However as the years went by and I realized that mothers, or parents in general, were to love all of their children equally, I started to despise her just a little bit. In my mind there was still this understanding that she was a busy woman, paying bills for two children, she didn't have it easy and she always tried to make our wishes come true. But when she turned up to all of Oliver's school events and none of mine, or gave Oliver a extra allowance while I did all the chores, I couldn't help but feel a little betrayed. This new mother was certainly not like that. Her attention was for me and me alone. I wanted her to be mine. I wanted a real mother. Like the ones in the commercials that loved their children unconditionally. So I took my shot at a second chance and grabbed onto her locks in hopes of sleeping in her bed instead of the crib. Her responding smile was so big it seemed to break her face into two half's. But I couldn't have cared less. This was my mother and she was smiling like this because of me. So when the maids still tried to tug me out of my mother's arms I insisted on staying there by crying my heart out. Instantly concerned for me, my mother called the maids back and made them carry my crib into her chamber. After that the days were spent in blessed union with soft storytelling and humming and the occasional giggle. I spend a long time in this bubble of content happiness until the head of the household aka my father returned to the castle looking for his bride and his first born daughter.


End file.
